


Lay with Me Amongst the Grapevines

by kageillusionz



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Charles Is a Darling, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Childhood Friends, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Erik is a Slow Bloomer in the Emotions Department, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Servants, Skinny Dipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-02-04 06:44:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1769479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kageillusionz/pseuds/kageillusionz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young Master Charles’ friend from Oxford comes to stay with him at Westchester House during their break. Their relationship changes over the course of Mr. Lehnsherr’s stay, warmed by the summer sunshine and their mutual affection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lay with Me Amongst the Grapevines

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ourgirlfriday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourgirlfriday/gifts).



> To my dearest **Fricorg**! Many apologies for the tardiness! I hope you had a most excellent cakeday to celebrate your birthday anniversary! This is based off that prompt sometime back based off slorie's excellent photoset found [here](http://slories.tumblr.com/post/77080577865). 
> 
> My sincerest of thanks and all my hobnobs go to **ang3lsh1** for the speedy beta~
> 
>  **Warnings** For brief mention of childhood abuse.

There are many things circulating amongst the wait staff about Mr. Erik Lehnsherr, the son of the Xavier’s family lawyer and personal guest of Young Master Xavier. And some of the rumours were not very nice at all, despite most of it being conjecture.

They say he is a drunkard and a lech, smokes, gambles on poker and losing his father’s hard earned money, and that his proclivities in sexual partners lie in those of the same gender. Although Mr. Lehnsherr is opportunistic and happy to play with the maids if any capture his eye; wishful thinking upon the parts of the maids.

The only saving grace they’ve found is in how early Mr. Lehnsherr wakes upon each morning to go for a swim and a jog. They took that as a sign for competition and added yet another black mark on the very long list belonging to the Downstair’s opinion of Mr. Lehnsherr.

And even so, despite all this, the staff were still enamoured by Mr. Lehnsherr’s gravitas.

Charles knows better than to put any stock in the snatchings of rumours he overhears on the way down to breakfast. Bemusedly, Charles entertains the notion of having a word with Mr. Rogers the butler, but decides to let it drop; Mr. Rogers prides himself on running a very tight ship and is no doubt already aware of the problem.

He’s greeted with a chorus of “Good morning, Young Master Charles” when he enters the dining room.

“Morning,” he replies with a bright smile.

Erik looks up from the newspapers he’s reading. The rest of the table is absent.

“Making a good start on breakfast as usual?” Charles asks, sliding into his usual seat next to Erik’s left. There’s already tea in his cup, trails of steam wafting lazily towards the ceiling.

“The most important meal of the day,” Erik quips and passes Charles a basket of freshly baked bread rolls, still warm from the oven and smelt a little bit like heaven. There really is no beating Mrs. Wilton. “Eat up, we have a full day of activities today.”

That’s the first Charles has heard of it. “Do we now? And whereabouts will we be going or doing for that matter?” Charles spreads a generous layer of butter over the fluffy white inside of his roll, sticks a rasher of bacon and then squeezes an egg in between.

“I’ve asked Mrs. Grey to arrange a picnic.” Erik watches with sharp, slate grey eyes as Charles takes a bite “You did promise to take a trail ride with me in the surrounding woodlands. It’s been nearly a fortnight and the sun’s been out for days. Who knows how long this cheerful weather will last for before we’re blanketed by melancholy and grey? Besides, it’d do you good to get out of this stuffy house once in a while.”

And get away from your step-father and step-brother, goes unsaid. Having been Charles’ best friend ever since they met as boys, Erik’s more than aware that ever since Sharon Xavier remarried and Charles spent summers returning with fading bruises.

Charles polishes off his creation. There are still beans and sausages to consume, but he leaves them for the time being to wipe his fingers free from crumbs and grease.

“Honestly, I’ll never know how you managed to win over Mrs. Grey to your side.”

“I’ll have you know Mrs. Grey is an excellent judge of character and that she finds me charming.”

“Yes. I’ll bet she does.” Charles remarks fondly, reaching for his cup for some tea to chase down his breakfast roll. “If we wait an hour or two, Raven could join us for our ride.”

Something like a cloud passes over Erik’s eyes, a mere pinching of his brows. It’s gone after a fleeting moment and it leaves Charles wondering whether he had conjured the expression up.

“I was hoping to steal you away for myself,” Erik rumbles quietly, his thumb brushing against the handle of the ornately decorated cup. “We’ve been here for almost a week now and I know I see you far more often at Oxford than I do here.” And that fact is disappointing since they could only meet up after classes on Fridays for dinner and a pint before spending the weekend ensconced in the library to study their respective fields.

Charles feels a little guilty about leaving Erik to his own devices. Westchester House too filled with unpleasant memories. He’s almost thankful that Cain had left to join the Royal Navy, no longer skulking about the corners and hiding amongst the shadows.

“Erik…”

“We haven’t even had time to play a game since we got here.”

Charles raises his eyebrow as he shakes some salt onto his eggs. They could play chess within Westchester House. In fact, Father’s old chess set in the west wing library had been set up by the butler in lieu of their arrival. “Was that an invitation, Erik?”

Erik’s mouth curls insufferably upwards. Far too smug, in Charles’ humble opinion. “Always, Charles. I live for those moments when I can thrash you thoroughly with my masterful strategy.”

“What masterful strategy?” Charles asks, withholding the snort that would go against everything Mother taught him. “As I recall it, we’re tied at 142 games apiece.”

“It just means you’re a worthy opponent,” says Erik, entirely too fond. Charles hides his smile into a bite of egg although he’s certain Erik sees through him. Erik has a knack for looking straight into the heart of every matter.

Especially when the heart in question is Charles’.

* * *

Thanks to Mrs. Grey’s fondness for Erik, their horses are already tacked up — picnic distributed through saddlebags — and waiting for them when they head to the Xavier family stables. It’s truly unfair how good looking Erik is with his shirtsleeves rolled-up and a waist-coat accentuating his tiny waist; no wonder a large portion of the staff at Westchester House were enthralled (not that Charles was part of that portion or anything).

Sharon Xavier had always harboured an interest in breeding prize-winning thoroughbreds. It had been what had brought his parents together in the first place: a shared interest in genetics. Of course, ever since Brian’s passing, Sharon has shown lukewarm interest at best. Not unless you took the form of liquid in a bottle.

Erik makes a beeline for the horse that he often rides when visiting Charles. The sweet palomino mare butts her face against Erik’s hand. “Hi there, Sunshine. Did you miss me? I bet you did. Here, have an apple.” The apple is gone the moment he offers it out to Sunshine, her enthusiastic crunching loud and jangles the metal bit in her mouth.

Not wanting to miss out on the chance of a treat,  Charles' horse - a dappled grey gelding by the name of Snowplough - headbutts Erik's other arm. He’s only appeased when Erik produces another apple from his pocket.

“You came prepared this time,” Charles notes with amusement. One of the stable boys comes forth to hold the horses steady as they mount up.

“I always come prepared,” Erik replies, fiddling with the chinstrap of his riding helmet and checks the length of the stirrups.

“Ride safely, boys,” Ms. Adler, the stable manager, reminds them sternly when they pass by, making Erik grin in reply. “Where will you be going?”

“Just down to the lake following the Old Blaze Trail. We’re planning to have lunch there.”

Ms. Adler nods, carefully noting down contingencies lest they manage to lose the Young Master and his friend. “Come back before sun down.

“We will!”

The trail Charles spoke of winds through the idyllic land owned by the Xaviers. Once it had divided the plot of land in half until an ugly fire had burnt the brambles down into nothing. Blue skies overhead and emerald green grass as far as the eye can see, a sight made better from the view on horseback and idle chatter they share between snatches of birdsong.

Wild animals watch them warily, beady eyes keeping tabs on them before deciding they were inconsequential and quickly scurried away to important animal business. They spot a badger dashing about, black and white stripes stark amongst the leaf litter.

They ride for almost another hour before the lake finally comes into view, tall trees surrounding the perimeter. Somewhere, a stream bubbles away adding to nature’s symphony. The sun makes the clear water sparkle, enticing Charles to dismount and jump straight in as a balm to the heat from the ride. The wooden pier stood to the side, a wooden boat moored to the post with thick fraying rope.

“At long last,” Erik sighs, gently nudging Sunshine to a patch of shade to dismount. “I was starting to believe that this lake was a myth.”

“You’ve been here before,” Charles reminds him with a huff of laughter, following Erik’s lead. His bottom is unused to long rides on horseback, but it’s a good ache.

“And I still wondered if I had conjured that memory up!”

They see to the horses first, removing the tack with fumbling fingers and leading them to the water for a long drink. Charles pets Snowplough’s neck and then leaves him to graze. He turns around with a loud squawk when he sees Erik’s naked back.

“What are you doing!”

“What does it look like?” Erik laughs as he shucks off his boots. “Oh stop being a prude, Charles. It’s not like you haven’t seen my bits before.”

Charles feels his cheeks flush, although he’s glad that he can attribute that from being in the sun. “That was years ago!”

“Ahh, well,” Erik says as he slips one pant leg down before stepping out of it. “Let me refresh your memory then!” He hollers loudly before setting off running towards the pier and then jumps in with a loud splash.

Charles drags a hand over his face and shakes his head with a grumble, his heart racing despite having done nothing strenuous that morning except perhaps butter some bread. And now there are just some things that he can never unsee.

He takes it more sedately, willing the blood to flow away from his cheeks, and goes to dig through the saddlebags for the picnic blanket.

“Come in, Charles! The water is lovely!”

“In a minute! I’m hoping the crazy man in the lake gets out first!”

“Stop being such a tosser and get in!”

“Fine!”

Most of their mutual acquaintances always think Erik is a creature that likes to keep his things neat and tidy. Perhaps it’s the aura of being a lawyer-in-the-making or the perpetual severe frown on his face. “If they can only see him now,” Charles mutters as he rearranges Erik’s boots and folds his discarded clothes.

He shakes the shirt out, biting down on his lip as he catches Erik’s scent. It’s not overpoweringly strong as one might expect from a sweaty shirt. Charles stops himself before he can bury his nose into the soft fabric.

 _Charles, what on earth are you thinking?_ he hisses at himself and quickly folds the rest of Erik’s things. _Sniffing at Erik’s shirt? He may as well think you queer… which you might be a little. And what would Kurt and Mother say if they ever find out? That’s like adding gasoline to the proverbial fire!!_

“Charles! Get those clothes off and get in already!  If you don’t, I’m coming back up and taking them off for you!”

He jumps at the sound of Erik’s voice and pushes _other_ thoughts aside with a bat of his hand. Those will be cross-examined later in the privacy of his own room, when he can smother the name of his friend into a pillow as he jerks off to the memory.

It’s a horrible thing being in love with one’s very straight best friend.

“Right, right. You’d think being a lawyer would give you ample amount of patience, my friend!”

“Maybe I just want to see you naked!”

“Does that work on all the birds? You’ve been losing your touch, Erik!”

Charles quickly strips, trying not to feel self-conscious about the entire affair. At the very least, the water will help deal with the stirrings in his loins. Deciding to take Erik’s lead, Charles runs around the bank of the lake and throws himself off the pier with a loud yell.

The water is cold but welcome against skin that feels too hot. He quickly emerges and takes in a lungful of oxygen, shaking the water out of his hair and smooths it back. His cock withdraws, thoroughly unamused by Charles’ actions.

Erik is grinning at him and lazily makes his way closer. “It’s good, right?”

Charles snorts and splashes Erik in the face. “We’ve been riding all day, of course it’s good.”

“Oi!”

It quickly devolves into a water fight from there when Erik retaliates, makinguse of the fact that Charles is ticklish in some places and fights dirty when possible.

They stop finally when Charles declares a truce almost an hour later for food, still firmly in Erik’s tickling range. “No more tickling!”

“I swear,” Erik replies solemnly and they slowly swim back to shore. “Damn. I forgot to ask for towels when I talked to Mrs. Grey earlier.”

Charles trots off to dig through the saddlebags, knowing better to doubt Mrs. Grey’s preparedness. “I think she knows us too well,” Charles replies when his fingers make contact with something fluffy and he pulls out twin navy blue towels. He throws one at Erik and then begins to towel himself dry.

Erik has an odd expression on his face when Charles angles his head and sneaks a peek through the safety curtain of his hair. “Huh. Maybe she does.”

They hang the wet towels up to dry and pull on their respective trousers (Lest someone sees us, Erik! Think about the children!). Quickly the set up their picnic and Erik’s travel chess set.

The picnic turns out to be a feast, filled to the brim with their favourite food: cold-cuts with mustard in a sandwich, a large sampling of cheeses and crackers, and two large thermoses of tea and coffee.

A comfortable silence settles amongst them, each of them happy to keep their thoughts to themselves.

Their halfway through their second game — one that Charles is winning by a mile on the heels of his first victory— when Erik pipes up, “I propose a wager for our third game.”

“And what sort of wager might that be?” Charles asks, twirling Erik’s fallen queen in his hand. It’s only a matter of time now before Erik tips his king over, or he falls into Charles’ intricate trap.

“The winner gets to ask the loser a question. And the loser has to answer truthfully.”

Charles’ eyebrows furrow. “There’s hardly anything you don’t know about me and vice versa. Surely with your eidetic memory you’d recall everything. I still can’t believe you recall that thing from Fifth Form.” He lets out a frustrated sigh when Erik’s smile broadens. “Oh, go on then. When have I ever been able to refuse you anything.”

Charles loses abysmally in the third game.

* * *

Erik looks up, savouring the way Charles’ face is slack with wonder.  It's always good to know that he still holds the ability to shock his best friend. Still can scrounge up the mental capacity to win when it matters the most.

“Well,” Charles says at length after he’s recovered. He looks a little paler than earlier, but then Erik always figured Charles to be pale and pasty forever. It’s probably partially genetics and partially being cooped up away from the sun; definitely something for Erik to work on. “I didn’t see that coming at all.”

“It was but a stroke of genius,” Erik replies, nodding humbly. It’s odd to find Charles’ face looking troubled. Erik knows he’ll do whatever it takes, no matter what, to see that expression gone.

He watches Charles take in a deep fortifying breath, and can't help but to tease, "I'm not going to ask for one of your kidneys, Charles."

"Well, how was I supposed to know that?" The troubled expression is still there, but now reined in. Hidden away by lessons taught from the master herself, Sharon.

Erik's heart flutters against his ribcage. "Surely you don't need more time to recover from bearing witness to my masterful prowess?"

“Shut up, you ponce.”

The moment Erik takes to gather his thoughts, gather his courage, feels like an age. He’s been working up to this moment for what feels like years now. Ever since Charles had defended the new, skinny exchange student and become firm friends. Ever since Charles had stood by him during the debacle that had been Magda’s miscarriage of their daughter during the second year of their study. Ever since Charles had nursed him through the broken relationship that came after.

Ever since a throwaway comment by one of their mutual friends had said they made a better couple, to a chorus of murmured agreements.

Erik didn’t know how he felt about men. Sure, he had a deep preference for women, but the one serious relationship he had there had failed abysmally. And from then on, Erik’s always been… curious.

Curious about what kissing a man would be like. Although, more specifically, what kissing _Charles_ would be like. Charles who possessed deep crimson lips that were designed to be kissed (and then some) by someone who adores him. Someone who would move night and day to make sure Charles is happy forever and ever. Someone like Erik.

And that— That is the question, dear Watson.

“Charles…”

The look he receives speaks volumes about Charles’ impatience, eyes flashing dangerously like a thunderstorm rolling through in a kaleidoscope of ferocious electricity. “Spit it out already. Good G-d, man! We’ll be here all day if you keep on.”

Erik defeats the whine in the back of his throat when Charles licks at his lips, pouring the last remaining drop from the thermos of tea. He takes a breath instead, breathing in and out to dissipate the nervous energy dwelling within his lungs and stomach.

It is now or never.

“May I kiss you?”

* * *

Charles is stunned like he had been suckerpunched in the gut after going several rounds with someone. How could Erik cruelly joke about something like that? After years of going out with strictly females.

“Is this a joke?" Charles asks. "Because if it is, it's really not that funny."

"No. It's not. Trust me, Charles. I've done a lot of thinking lately—"

"—That's new—"

"—Dammit Charles! I don't need quips from the peanut gallery as I try to explain that maybe I've fallen in love with you."

"What?!" Charles’ jaw opens on its own accord. This. This could only be a dream. Could only possibly be a figment of his imagination. How long had he covetted and thought about this very scenario?

"I'm serious here!" Erik sends him a pleading look. “ Please answer my question."

"So all of this: The picnic, the chess, the swim... You were flirting with me the entire time?" At Erik's bashful grin and — good heavens, was _Erik_ blushing? — Charles internally freaks out. "Oh. Oh my. How long?"

"Too long. But long enough." Erik’s gaze grows hotter, ravenous in a way that Charles has never seen before. Not even the time that Erik had slumped down next to him at their usual pub having only had a cup of coffee all day after one of his exams. Charles’ spare ribs that he had been picking at had been inhaled without further question.

“So?”

Charles blushes underneath that gaze. He bites down on his lips and drags a hand over his shaved jawline.

“Y-Yes.”

Erik blinks once, then twice, before his face transforms like the sun reappearing from behind grey storm clouds in Oxford (Charles would know, they had both cheered immensely when the cosmic fluke had happened).

“Good…” Erik leans forward, one hand planted by the chess set and uncaring for any casualties that are knocked over, and rests a warm palm on Charles’ cheek. Charles dares not breathe, dares not ruin the moment, even as his unsubtle body leans forward on its own accord.

His eyes flutter close when Erik’s nose brushes against his, rubbing affectionately in ways that set butterflies off in his stomach, before Erik’s lips gently press over his. His skin crackles with an unknown energy as they share one breath, then two. Fireworks erupt behind his eyelids, louder than the rush of blood and euphoria that courses through his veins.

It’s chaste but the best kiss that Charles has ever received.

“Oh.”

“Very oh,” Erik confirms, diving back for a second when Charles doesn’t protest. “I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time.”

Charles shakes his head, minutely enough that it doesn’t jostle Erik away, and quietly says, “not longer than I.”

Erik’s hands finds its way onto his chest. He’s being gently pushed into the picnic rug and then being covered by Erik’s body, strong and lean and the tacit permission to touch has been given.

“Then,” Erik says with an affectionate smile, one that crinkles the corners of his eyes and one reserved only just for Charles, “I have a lot of catching up to do.”

* * *

They barely make it back to Westchester House before sunset. Charles has to subtly adjust his shirt to hide Erik’s claim upon his person and more than one of the staff note that the young master happens to be glowing.

The talk that circulates change thereafter. Now, instead of slandering parts of Mr. Lehnsherr’s personality over dinner, the underbutlers speak of when they might catch the young Master with his _friend_ in the act. The maids titter and contribute to the various locations.

Mrs. Wilton chortles — happily pocketing the money from a variety of betting pools — snaps at them all to finish their soup and mind their own business.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Lay with me Amongst the Grapevine (the valet remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2155029) by [letosatie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/letosatie/pseuds/letosatie)




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